


Letters

by Aoife



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 17:32:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/298292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aoife/pseuds/Aoife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Thank you to my betas (who I'll name after reveal) for checking this over.</p><p>This does take "Creature in the Case" into account for canon.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lionpyh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionpyh/gifts).



> Thank you to my betas (who I'll name after reveal) for checking this over.
> 
> This does take "Creature in the Case" into account for canon.

Nick put the dip pen down carefully and gently shook his wrist out. He still didn’t understand why he needed to use the linen paper and the glass pen that Sam had insisted on making for him, but … the letters did arrive in better shape, and until he mastered the charter marks for imbuing a message into something, or persuade the message hawks that he was trustworthy, he would have to accept the Old Kingdom's antiquated format of letter writing for exchanging messages with Lirael when she was away being the Abhorsen-in-Waiting.

Sam’s aunt _fascinated_ him - and wasn’t that an odd thought? His best friend’s aunt? He shook his head and touched the charter mark he was still getting used to lightly. Sam didn’t care, and it appeared to be amusing Sabriel and Touchstone, who kept throwing them both together - ostensibly because Lirael was the best suited to teaching him charter magic that wasn’t just oriented around the dead and war.

He folded the linen paper neatly, and lit the taper carefully, dripping the wax into place, and sealing the letter shut. Whispering the marks he’d been taught ( _royal secrets_ ) he pressed the Sayre crest into the wax.

His father had relented. Lirael had brought him back to Belisaere after the run in with Dorrance’s Hrule, and there had been a flurry of message hawks and official correspondence back and forth. He held a _reserve_ commission with the Crossing Point Scouts, and he was currently the Ancelstierran ambassador’s military attache.

At least that was the public version of the story; in reality Nick couldn’t see himself ever going “home”. Touchstone and Sabriel, Sam and his sister, and Lirael were what the political families of Ancelstierre should be. And as soon as Sabriel and Touchstone agreed that he wasn’t going to get himself - or Lirael - killed he was going to join Lirael on her _excursions_.

He scooped up the letter and descended from the tower room. He and Sam were the only ones in that tower. When he'd arrived, Sabriel had smiled - the expression soft and welcoming on her normally sharp features - as she'd first showed him up to it. After a few weeks in her presence, he now saw the gesture for what it was; an offering of a place within her family.

Lirael had a small suite where there should have been a concealed office off the rebuilt palace library, but being as she was currently in the mountains beyond the Clayr’s Glacier, her room was warded shut. He tightened his grip around the envelope, and reminded himself that Sam had built her the best hand he could, and she was working with her cousins and a unit of the Royal Guard to hunt the group of Free Magic creatures that were praying on travellers bound for the Seers’ mountain. She would be back in a fortnight. Maybe three weeks. Meanwhile, if he got the letter he’d written down to the guardroom in the next half an hour, the Clayr paperwing courier could have it at the Glacier tonight, and their Rangers would have it to Lirael within a day or two of that.

She was his reason to improve. He’d be _happier_ if he could accompany her. His stupidity had done a lot of damage, and he wanted to fix it. And his stupidity had nearly killed _Lirael_. He shook his head and sighed at the train of his own thoughts, before ducking into the guardroom, and handing over the letter. The guardsman smiled.

“For the young Abhorsen, sir? The Clayr’s paperwing should be here shortly, but the border courier has been in - there’s a letter for you from Ancelstierre. Best be reading it before it disintegrates.”

“Thank you - do you know who is in the yard for weapon drill at the moment?”

The guardsman grinned.

“The King is at practise at the moment - and Arbath was heading in that direction.” Nick winced and the guardsman laughed. “I take it you’ve had your share of bruises at his hands, sir?”

“At both their hands. I made the mistake of assuming Ancelstierran fencing would have taught me how to fight.” Nick’s hand dropped to touch the pommel of his sword. “I suppose I should go and take my lumps in good grace, really.”

The guardsman turned away and Nick slipped back out of the guardroom, almost colliding with a young blond woman in the surcoat of the Clayr. She looked him up and down offering a bright smile, but Nick just shook his head. She pouted a little but the expression changed to one of understanding as she caught sight of his sword belt.

“My cousin Lirael sends her greetings, Nicholas Sayre.” She handed him a small piece of wood with three charter marks burnt into it. “I do believe she misses you. Despite what you may think, some of us loved her dearly. But it is far too easy to forget that without the certainty granted us by the gift of sight, you may not know that you _are_ loved. We Clayr are trying to correct the mistakes we made with my cousin. Be good to her, please?”

“If she allows me to, I will be.” He smiled a little crookedly, and the Clayr went up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He blushed a little and she walked away, ducking into the guardroom with a small smile.

Nick touched the two messages gently in the pocket of his jacket, but headed for the practise yard rather than retreat to the library as he wanted.

The king wore an amused smile when he entered the yard, and despite being told he didn’t _need_ to, he sketched a small bow. Arbath came at him from one side, sword dancing with training marks and Nick went on the defensive drawing on the marks in the sword, instincts he didn’t realise he had - and the free magic that still simmered in his veins.

He landed a blow on the trainer, and was shocked by it. Arbath melted away, and Nick spun round to find Touchstone with both of his blades drawn.

“Second test, Nick.” Without any further warning, Touchstone came at him with all the focus and training born of his not inconsiderable years as a warrior.

Touchstone left him battered black and blue, but Nick was still riding the elation from landing a blow on Arbath. Sam was sitting waiting for him on his bed, with a slight smile on his face, and a set of pipes in his hand.

“Mother will be taking you out on the next Hand call-out. She’ll explain the pipes, but _don’t_ play with them, Nick. They’re the little siblings to the bells.” Nick started. “Mogget insisted I need to make them for you. He made the trek from the House to do so.” Nick nodded and slipped the pipes carefully into the small pouch which now hung from his sword belt, and Sam smiled again.

“I did wonder if Lirael had worked out how to reproduce that.” His smile grew a little more crooked. “And good luck Nick - I hope you don’t need it - after that Hrule though ...”

He made to rise and leave Nick alone with the messages he still hadn’t read, but Nick shook his head.

“Will you be staying in the Palace for the next few days, Sam?”

His schoolfriend blinked. “For a four-day, then I’ve got four charter-stones to repair out towards the Clayr’s Glacier, and I’ll be in their libraries for at least a week afterwards. Why?”

“I have an idea for a gift for Lirael, and I was hoping you’d help me make them …”


End file.
